Three Years After
by Phoenixflame
Summary: Three years after graduation, Ginny Weasley is approached by Lucius Malfoy, who has an offer for her she cannot refuse...
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter novels, and all characters and situations contained within. I'm making no money off of this work of fanfiction, and I intend no copyright infringement.  
  
  
Three Years After  
by Phoenixflame  
  
  
  
Three years ago, she had graduated from Hogwarts into the post-Voldemort era. The sky was blue, the flowers bloomed, and her family was so happy to welcome their daughter into the world of adulthood... starting with the parade, of course, of nice young boys her mother thought would make excellent husbands for Ginny Weasley.  
  
Ginny was eighteen years old, and the youngest child in a family with seven children, counting her. She had, for seven years without fail, lived at Hogwarts for nine out of twelve of those months every year, smothered in black robes, broken promises, and the stereotypical regard for her as 'just another Weasley'.  
  
So, in a move that shocked her mother, her friends, and her elder brother, Ronald Weasley (husband to Padma Patil, formerly of Ravenclaw, a member of the Chudley Cannons, and longtime friend of the 'Boy Who Lived', also known as Harry Potter), who were now given to checking surreptitiously to see about any suspicious diaries she might be concealing about her garret in Diagon Alley, or any strange artifacts left over from the most recent wizarding war, she accepted a job as a reporter for the Daily Prophet, the justly maligned newspaper to the magic community of Great Britain.  
  
Percy, overseas in America, had expressed a sort of distracted dismay and outrage via owl post, but he had his own matters to deal with. Charlie and Bill were hardly ever in Britain to begin with... and the twins, of course, thought it was a wonderful joke, then persisted in sending her their newest products, all of which found homes in the magic disposal bin... she'd ceased opening such anonymous packages in her fourth year, during which she'd been a second-string target for the Death Eaters, and assumedly, a candidate for Harry Potter's girlfriend prospects.  
  
Little Ginny Weasley had herself grown up to be quite a stunner. With a thin, pale face of oddly attractive angles, soft brown eyes, shoulder-length red hair, and a trim build, she cut quite a figure. Bearing a Dicto-Quill with no-nonsense black ink, and a Never-Ending Vellom Roll as her constant companions, she had aqquired a reputation for ferreting out all sorts of wonderful little secrets the famous witches and wizards loved to keep secret. Once again, her mother bemoaned the scathing articles and ruthlessness of her youngest child, shocked at the callousness of her 'little' Ginny. So annoyed was Ginny that she took to using her full name within a year of graduation. Virginia Weasley was not the inexperienced and naive girl she'd been in her first and second years. This was a grown-up and disillusioned woman.   
  
Loathed by wizards and witches alike, she was one of the few things that kept the foundering Daily Prophet from going under... and she knew it. And so we begin out story... seven years after the events of Goblet of Fire and the Rising of Voldemort, in the offices of the Daily Prophet.  
  
  
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The Daily Prophet had once occupied the entire brownstone building, from basement to roof, and from wall to wall. But, sales having fallen off due to the reputation the newspaper had aqquired during and after the Rising of Voldemort, they were now renting out the building to various other tenants, and only occupied the fifth floor.   
  
Private offices were few and far between. Fortunately, Virginia, being the 'star reporter' of the publication, had one with a... charming view of Diagon Alley, such as it was from the brownstone. Over the roof of the Ministry of Magic building, beyond a chimney... if she just squinted, she could see the crowded streetway and the robed figures hurrying to and fro.  
  
With an exasperated sigh, she swung back around, then winced as the chair wobbled ominously, and emmitted loud screeches. Charms and grease could only do so much for a chair that had been around for at least twenty years.  
  
The window was covered in dust, as was most of the room. Empty tea cups and an Insta-Brew kettle littered the surface of the desk, along with piles of parchment, Dicto-Quills, and various wizarding photos... the subjects of which stubbornly refused to acknowledge her presence. Virginia ignored them, and stared grimly around her office.  
  
Reputation and scathing wit could only do so much. The charm of a Weasley who could wield the sharp side of her tongue on half the wizarding world was wearing off, and the publication would undoubtedly go under... leaving a market, if one cared, for a new publication, assuming no one got to it first.  
  
However, the redheaded reporter had no illusions about /that/ happening, especially not with her reputation. Reputation was, quite sadly, against her, and her friends had learned long ago not to finance her plotting and undercutting.   
  
Friends. Now there was a laugh.  
  
Three years alone in the wizarding world, working to expose the supposed misdeeds of the wizarding elite, had done good to draw what was left of youthful illusions away from her eyes. The bumbling naivete of the Boy Who Lived had long since ceased to be amusing and endearing. The domineering, exacting Hermione Granger, beloved of the Hogwarts Teachers, reminded her of a younger, female Snape. And her brother... she'd never had any illusions about her brother being some sort of messianic savior of the wizarding world.  
  
*More likely the 'Boy Who Lived' tripped over his own feet and stabbed You-Know-Who in the chest with the sword.* She snorted, then stood, seizing a quill and her roll of vellum. Maybe, under the pretense of going out to find a good story, she could fetch some ice-cream and get away from the depressing atmosphere of the Daily Prophey offices. Anything was better than sitting around contemplating her existance.  
  
*Merlin knows if I sit around any longer here, I'll start developing morals.* She emitted a short bark of laughter, then swept her blue cloak on over her robes, and headed out the door. Ice cream. And she knew just the place...  
  
Five minutes later, she sauntered into Florian Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, and sat down at the counter. A few witches eyed her, then, in a rather ostenatious show, moved away from her. Virginia ignored them, and waved to the old man behind the counter. "Hullo Florian."  
  
"Ginny Weasley, what a pleasant surprise!" the old man replied, making the redhead cringe slightly at the name. "Sorry, it's Virginia now, isn't it? I always forget. Such a pity... you used to be such a nice girl... shall it be the usual?"  
  
"Yeah. Lemon ice-cream, orange syrup, and marshmellows. You know what I like." She smiled slightly at the man, and leaned forwards, elbows on the counter. The old man hurried past, carrying a glass tulip glass... he absently rapped her forearm with his free hand as he did, out of long habit.   
  
"Elbows down... some things /never/ change." he harrumphed. Virginia rolled her eyes, but did as he ordered, and clasped her hands on the counter, watching as he went about constructing what most young witches would consider a stomache-turning concoction. "Twenty-five years I order that rag of a newspaper... through the Dark Times before you were born, and up through the peacetime, and through the Rising of Voldemort. Never once did it lie until that witch Rita Skeeter came along, and now it's a sharks nest... never, my dear, did I imagine..."  
  
"It pays the rent." Virginia offered, taking the garishly colored concoction and dipping her spoon into it.  
  
"Yes, well." Florian looked a bit non-plussed by this. "Customers to serve, delighted to see you again, my dear... do try to be a bit more agreeable and a bit less of a hmmm, harridan. You're of the age when a nice young man..." She tuned out the rest of the speech, and dug in, enjoying the sweet and sour taste of her sundae. Eventually, the wizened old man turned and bustled down the line of the counter to a couple who decided, upon seeing her at the counter, to take a booth on the other side of the parlor.   
  
"My word. You /do/ eat that... brew." a suavely malevolent voice said from behind her. Virginia tensed. There were two people she could expect that voice to come from. She chose the most likely, and retorted:  
  
"Bugger off, Draco."  
  
A voice mumbled something behind her, and the stool spun around. The redhead looked up, startled. She swallowed her surprise and unease, then, with a skill honed in the three years since graduation, she summoned up a cool little smile of superiority that didn't do anything to assuage the shock.  
  
Lucius Malfoy stood before her, tall and elegant, a sneer playing about his mouth, a cold look in his grey eyes as he twirled his wand in his hand. "Ms. Weasley. Just the witch I was looking for."  
  
  
End Part One 


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter novels, and all characters and situations contained within. I'm making no money off of this work of fanfiction, and I intend no copyright infringement.  
  
  
Three Years After  
by Phoenixflame  
  
  
  
"Mr. Malfoy." she returned, tilting her head up to look at him. "I assume you have a good reason for interrupting me?"  
  
He didn't smile. "Indeed. Perhaps somewhere else?" he suggested, not bothering to look around at the rest of the parlor.   
  
"I'm neither stupid nor naive. Go find someone else to play with." She swung her stool back around, and dug into her sundae again, making as if to ignore the Malfoy patriarch.   
  
"I have no intention of harming you, Miss Weasley."  
  
"There's a laugh. What do you /want/?" she demanded, sticking her spoon into the sundae before turning halfway back around to look at him.  
  
He smiled slightly, a very cold little smile. "I want to make you an offer. But not here."  
  
"You have nothing I want, Malfoy." Virginia replied, tossing her head. He couldn't do anything to her... and she knew it. "Go bother someone else."  
  
"Oh?" He lowered his voice. "Very well. Do... enjoy your sundae, Miss Weasley." He turned abruptly, and strode out. Virginia watched him go, disturbed.   
  
She was no fool. Lucius Malfoy had, ten years ago, given her a diary. Tom Riddle's diary. It had nearly killed her. And if that wasn't enough for her, the fact that the Malfoys had an infamous rivalry with the Weasleys was enough to put her off, despite what little family loyalty she tended to have on any given day.  
  
On the other hand, the fact that Harry Potter was a friend of her family would be enough to give most Dark Wizards pause.   
  
Most. Virginia wasn't sure if Malfoy was 'most' anything.  
  
************************************  
  
Lucius Malfoy was born to the pureblood Malfoy family in the Muggle year nineteen fifty eight. From an early age, he was expected to inherit the fortune and the name of the family. Therefore, he was engaged to Narcissa Ollivander at the age of five, and married to her at sixteen.   
  
It took her six years to bear a baby to term. The birth was quite traumatic, and, combined with her weak condition, the doctors said that she would never be able to bear another child. Lucius was understandably not pleased, but family was very important to him. So he raised up Draco to follow in his footsteps.   
  
From nineteen seventy six to nineteen eighty one, he served Voldemort as a Death Eater, not because he wished to, but because politics demanded it, and, if nothing else, Lucius was a man of politics, with a lust for power, and a desire to see his descendents ascend to higher levels of power.  
  
In nineteen ninety six, everything changed. In the intervening fifteen years since Voldemort had fallen, Lucius had fostered his own power, gaining influence over the Ministry, and his own peers. He'd even managed to unseat his nearly senile from his seat on the Hogwarts board of governors, and take his place.  
  
Lucius Malfoy had his own reasons not to be pleased with the ascension of Voldemort. Suddenly, the carefully constructed alliances he'd fostered in the years of peace were falling apart. Therefore, he took his family, Draco included, and fled to France to avoid both the tarring brush of being involved with either side. Three years later, Voldemort was defeated, and the Malfoy family returned to England.   
  
He had money. But the influence he'd had seemed to be slipping away from him. His son, ever the playboy, brushed aside the arranged marriage with the Parkinsons, and seemed to be devoting himself to bedding half the female population of the wizarding world. There wasn't a party or a ball that the young Malfoy heir wasn't invited to.  
  
Through his son, there was power to be had. Draco, content with his circle of friends and the knowledge that he could blackmail witches from almost all of the pureblood families, saw no farther than that.  
  
Lucius watched Virginia Weasley leave the ice cream parlor. As she passed through the door, he pulled a small crystal out of a pocket in his robes, pointed his wand at it, and hissed "Seguala."  
  
The stone shot from his hand, around the other wizards and witches traversing Diagon Alley, then slowed as it approached Virginia. It dropped itself discreetly into a pocket in her robes. Lucius smiled... then Disapparated.   
  
  
End Part Two 


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter novels, and all characters and situations contained within. I'm making no money off of this work of fanfiction, and I intend no copyright infringement.  
  
  
Three Years After  
by Phoenixflame  
  
  
  
Aparment 205, Windy Garret. Home sweet home.  
  
Virginia scowled, and dug into the pocket of her patched robes for the key to her door. Her fingers sifted through old candy wrappers, a broken quill, an oddly smooth stone that tingled when she touched it, and finally, the worn metal of a key. She drew it out of her pocket, and unlocked the rusty old door. It swung inwards, creaking loudly.   
  
Once inside, she threw the key on an endtable covered with dust, peeled off her overobe, and headed for the kitchen.  
  
She hadn't bothered to follow any of what she'd learned from her mother. This meant that the apartment, which was far from being Hogwarts level living, was even more run down than it could have been. The walls themselves resisted her meager Transfiguration skills, the ghoul in the apartment above was always most active after midnight, and the faucets in the sink tended to run greem slime in the morning. Beyond the magical aspects, though, there were melted down candles everywhere.  
  
Virginia was fond of scented candles. They added a touch of color to the dreary garret, or so she thought. But she never threw out the melted down ones, and things tended to fall into the molted wax, so year old candles littered the mantle of the cracked and blackened fireplace that had once housed a floo system, and candles lined the patched sills of the windows.  
  
Today, they simply annoyed her.  
  
She swept the candles off of the counter, ignoring them as they rolled underneath a batter table, and snatched the asprin bottle of of the counter. She swallowed down one dry, and grimaced at the taste. *Dammit. I was supposed to be at work.* she thought, then shrugged. "Who gives a shit?" she said to the empty apartment.   
  
Turning, she walked across the apartment, kicking odds and ends out of the way as she went. Stopping, she bent down, and tried to open the window.   
  
The window resisted her efforts. Swearing softly, Virginia redoubled her efforts. Slowly, torturously, the window creaked open. The redhead straightened just in time to be hit by a lovely grey owl.   
  
She swore loudly at the owl, which settled down on the back of an ancient rocking chair, preening itself and not showing the least bit of interest in her inventive cursing. Eventually, her supply of obscenities ran out, and she grabbed the owl, ignoring the startled squawk and the peck the owl aimed at her hands.  
  
Sticking the owl under one arm, she headed into the kitchen, examining the letter she held. The sealing wax was imprinted with the stamp of one HJP. Virginia tossed the letter onto the counter. The bird began to squawk loudly again, and she deposited it with a complete lack of ceremony on the rickety table. The bird hopped backwards, and squawked at her, ruffling its feathers.  
  
"No, I don't have a letter for you." The bird stared at her. "What? I'm not going to lunch with that git, if that's what it's about." The owl began to preen again. Virginia swatted at it. "Get! The window's open, and I'm NOT reading the letter. I've got better things to do." The owl dodged the swat, and hopped onto her arm. The owl flew at her, pecking at her. Cursing, she stumbled backwards, tripped over one of the candles on the floor, and barely escaped skulling herself on the rusty handle of one of the cabinets under the sink.   
  
The owl landed on her chest, letter clenched in its beak, and dropped the parchment on her. Rolling her eyes, Virginia picked up the parchment and broke the seal. Apparently mollified, the owl fluttered up to sit on the broken ceiling fan, and began to preen itself.  
  
"Bloody bird." she growled, and read the letter. "'Dear Ginny'... it's Virginia, you git... 'If you can possibly fit it into your busy schedule, would you please meet me at Moonstruck Coffee at 3 PM today? Harry James Potter."  
  
The bird squawked. Virginia looked up at it. "I'm not going." she informed the owl. It stared down at her balefully. The redhead glanced down at the parchment, and saw words fading into existence. Cursing softly, she read "P.S: The owl won't leave you alone until you do."  
  
"That GIT!" She threw the stub of a candle at the owl. It dodged easily, and glided down for an easy landing on the back of one of the worn wooden chairs that sat around the table. Scowling at the bird, Virginia stomped out of the kitchen, intent on finding her dress robes.  
  
  
End Chapter Three 


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter novels, and all characters and situations contained within. I'm making no money off of this work of fanfiction, and I intend no copyright infringement.  
  
Authors Note: I'm doing this in my spare time, for my own entertainment, NOT yours. For those who left polite feedback, thank you. I'm glad you like this little tale. For those who seem to think that fanfic writing is my life... it isn't. I have no duty or obligation to you in regards to updating my fanfic.  
  
Now... on with the story.  
  
  
Three Years After  
by Phoenixflame  
  
  
She showed up at Moonstruck exactly three minutes late, and found the Boy Who Lived sitting in a booth by the window, signing an autograph for a ten year old girl with brown curls and chatting amiably with her older sister, who looked to be about sixteen. Virginia tucked the owl under her arm, muffling its beak clicking and squawking, and stalked over to the table, more than a little annoyed.  
  
"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as the girl took back her diary, squeaked a thanks to Harry, and bounded off. The teenager gave her a haughty look, taking in the old black robes in a raking glance, then stalked off after the girl. "Well, well. Hi, Harry. Having fun with the jailbait?" She dropped into the booth opposite him, and waved down a waitress. "I'll have a raspberry mocha milkshake. On him, of course."  
  
He gave her a thoroughly unamused look. "The girl just wanted an autograph. I thought it was rather sweet myself."  
  
"You would." She grabbed the owl and dropped it on the table. It landed, pecked at the abandoned straw wrapper beside Harry's drink, then began to clean itself, ignoring the humans. "You can have the owl back." she informed him. "I'm not in the market for a familiar."  
  
"Keep it. I own more than I know what to do with." He leaned forwards over the table, emerald eyes half-shut. "So. How are you doing? You've grown up..." The heated look in his eyes made him look older... and sexy, Virginia had to admit. She wasn't /dead/, after all. Unfortunately, he had to ruin it by opening his mouth. "...Little Ginny's filled out quite nicely."  
  
The waitress came back, and deposited the milkshake on the table with a thump. She licked her lips, and fluttered her eyelashes at Harry, who didn't seem to notice. The woman scowled at Virginia, then stomped off, evidently jealous.  
  
"It's Virginia." she snapped. "What do you want, Harry?"  
  
"I thought I'd look you up after all this time. I've been around the world, traveling with Sirius and Remus, and I thought that it would be nice to see some old friends... and others..."  
  
"Others." she said dubiously.   
  
"Keep the owl." Picking up the owl, she thrust it in his face. "Go play rich and spoiled playboy with someone else, Potter."  
  
He sat back in his seat, staring at her. "What's wrong with /you/? I invite you out to meet me for lunch at Moonstruck, and you act like a..."  
  
"Save it." She rose from her seat, leaving the milkshake where it was. "This was a mistake. I only came here to give you your owl back. Go seduce someone else. You had your chance four years ago. But I'm not Ginny anymore."  
  
"Are you sure you don't still have Voldemort's school diary?" Harry asked dubiously.  
  
"Shove off." she snarled, and turning, she stalked out of Moonstruck.  
  
Harry looked down at the owl. It flipped its wings to its back, then walked to the edge of the table, and took flight, soaring in a wide arc and out the door as it swung shut, barely missing having its wings slammed.  
  
Twenty minutes later, Virginia stalked into the dusty offices of Daily Prophet, Inc., and sat down at her desk, intent on getting at least a little work done. Lousy job or not, she needed the money.  
  
"Virginia! You're back." A wiry, middle-aged man with a perpetual smell of ink about him entered her office without knocking. "You missed the staff meeting. Rita was livid."  
  
"Rita can go kiss a flobberworm. I had some business to take care of." Virginia leaned back in her chair, ignoring the tortured scream she evoked from the ancient piece of furniture. "So what earth shattering news did I miss?"  
  
"I wish you'd treat this more seriously." he chided. "It's your job that's riding on the line too. If this paper goes under, none of us are going to be able to find any work... except maybe as potion's ingredients in Knockturn Alley. I hear they're in the market for ears lately..."  
  
"Yeah, you and your great contacts." She waved one hand dismissively. "Fix me up, Anthony. What did Her Majesty have to say?"  
  
He leaned against her desk, dislodging a stack of paper that fell to the floor with a thump. Both of the reporters ignored it. "Well, we're well into the red. We've got maybe enough money for ten more issues of the Daily Prophet. Gringotts refused to give Rita a loan again... they're still frosted about the late payment back around March. Winston quit when he found out, so we're out another warm body. Problem is, he took the latest batch of ink with him, and that's another fifty Galleons out of Rita's wallet."  
  
"So basically, we're still fucked." Virginia shrugged. "No big deal. Anything else?"  
  
"Nope. Rita spent most of the staff meeting ranting about you not being there, and cursing out the owl."  
  
"Owl?" She peered at him. "What owl? We /never/ get owls, unless they're Howlers or bills."  
  
"Well, this one was a private messenger owl." He pulled out a folded parchment and tossed it to her, then turned to go.  
  
She snatched it out of the air, and examined it. It was heavy parchment... pale green, and expensive, made with linen. Turning it over, she saw the blob of green sealing wax that held it shut... and the dragon sigil imprinted into the wax. Rolling her eyes, Virginia dropped it to the surface of her desk. "Great. Thanks, Anthony." She drew her wand, and pointed it at the parchment. "I hear linen burns fairly well..."  
  
Anthony, who was halfway to the door, whirled on her. "Are you insane? This entire building is a fire trap!"  
  
But it was too late. "Incendio." Virginia intoned, dipping her wand slightly as she pronounced each syllable of the charm in a measured, careful cadence... just as Flitwick taught all of his students.  
  
The surface of the desk burst into flame.  
  
She threw herself back from the desk. Over the roaring of the fire, she heard Anthony frantically chanting charms at the inferno. But the fire spread too quickly, devouring the stacks of parchment and paper on her desk. An ink well exploded from the heat, and Virginia felt a sharp, stinging pain across her face. As she cowered back against the wall, trying to remember any charms that could save her, she felt a strange sense of vertigo, and fell backwards through the wall into nothingness.  
  
  
End Part Four 


End file.
